


When You Know

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: Harry Potter is up to something...





	When You Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sugaredsundrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugaredsundrop/gifts).



> Omfg, I've been trying to get this fic written since may O_o longest 3k ever! But written it is, for the lovely sugaredsundrop. I hope you like it sugar, and thank you so much for the prompt ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Huge thanks to Maesterchill for a speedy and thorough beta, and Maesterchill and llap115 for helping me select the perfect title! You two rock! 
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters, spells, or locations.

Potter was up to something. Sure, that sounds rich coming from me, but I knew it. And I was right you know, so you can just stop laughing at me. He took to sneaking out of his own blasted house every blasted night, then acted like nothing happened the next day. 

Okay, no, I didn't actually have the right to complain. I was a guest in his house; it's not like we're anything more than friends - and even that would have been pushing it. But it irked me.

He doesn't trust me, after all this time. After working together for years. 

Of course, knowing Potter, I thought to myself ‘he's probably just feeding homeless puppies or nursing sick children.’ Orphans, I mean… Unless random people let him into their homes to- 

Fuck me, they probably do. Bloody saint.

Or, you know, maybe he was fucking someone. I didn't like to think about it, but it was a definite possibility. He's a man, after all… A virile... fit man. And there I was, cramping his style. Encroaching on his territory. It could have been something he did on a regular basis, for all I knew. But then, why not tell me?

Whatever. It's fine. It's not like I wanted anything from him. Potter offered to let me stay with him while my flat was being renovated. I certainly wasn't hoping to use the opportunity to get an eyeful of Potter in his natural habitat. It's not like I'm so bloody frustrated with how dense he is that I've taken to wanking in the loo during my lunch break after he looks at me for too long, with his intense green eyes and his long, dark lashes. That darkening of his cheeks, implying that he knows just what he's doing to my skin, to my cock. 

No, I did not break my plumbing just for such an opportunity. I don't want my flat to smell like the toilet at a skeezy club, thank you. 

But any thoughts I could have entertained about taking full advantage of the opportunity I wasn't looking for flew right out the window when he fucking disappeared that first night. It's been two weeks now, and he's still doing it every other night or so. He waits till he thinks I'm asleep, then leaves. Through the front door, like some Muggle. Yesterday, I watched him walk down Grimmauld Place like he didn't know how to Apparate or Floo… It makes no sense. 

Tonight, though, I was ready. I found Potter’s Invisibility Cloak last night and stashed it in the bedroom he lent me. All I had to do was follow him. Assuming he wouldn’t Apparate from farther away - which would be ridiculous, frankly - finding out what was going on should have been a piece of cake. 

He didn’t Apparate, the wanker. He kept walking. Fucking prat. I am not in shape for something like that, even with Auror training and frequent casework. We don't go gallivanting through Muggle London, for fuck’s sake. We Apparate to the necessary sites and back. We throw spells and curses, not punches. The most active we get is dodging enemy fire, and that generally consists of a handy Pprotego or two. 

After at least a mile, maybe two, we entered a shopping district, houses and gardens giving way to shops with little flats above them - all closed by now. And Potter kept walking. I was thankful for the Invisibility Cloak at that point. I'm sure I looked positively frightful, never mind that the Ccloak likely didn’t help matters. I shudder to think of the state of my hair under that thing… 

We passed a Tesco, then a darkened petrol station, and a plethora of other shops before Potter slowed, finally stopping outside of a brightly lit picture window. Inside, a group of equally bright patrons were laughing heartily, shoving at each other and tossing their heads back with it. A small smile spread on Potter’s face and widened when one of the group caught sight of him and waved him into what appeared to be an all night café. 

“What took you so long, Potter?” the waver demanded when we approached the table, standing to embrace him. 

It took me a moment to realise that I had no idea whether this was a man or a woman… They wore a loose, sleeveless shirt and sagging jeansdenims, showing off lightly muscled arms as well as numerous tattoos and the worn waistband of faded boxers. Their hair was cut short on the sides but a bit longer on top, and a streak of blue trailed from the center of their cowlick to a flourish in the front, just above their brow. 

Around the table, the others were rising to greet Potter with varying degrees of warmth and excitement, but all seemed genuinely pleased to see him. When he sat, a slim man with long sleeves that seemed to be unattached to anything promptly dropped himself into Potter’s lap, winding long arms around his neck, and tossed his head as if to remove an annoying strand of hair from his face - which was absurd since every single sandy lock he had was plastered to his scalp - and then laid his head on Potter’s shoulder and simpered. 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn't come,” he whinged. 

“Why wouldn't I come?” Potter laughed, bringing a hand up to rub at the man's back, and I cringed. “It's Thursday, isn't it? I always come on Thursday.”

“Unless you're out of town…” the man pouted. 

“Unless I'm out of town,” Potter conceded. 

Was that the kind of man he wanted? Someone who jumped up when he entered the room? Who curled into him like a puppy? Who cared if he was gone and catered to his ego? Well, I would never be that man. Could never be that man. I've given myself up before and I'll never do it again. 

Not that I even want to, of course. I don't want to keep Potter; I just want to fuck him. Stifling a groan of abject disgust, I began to round the table, looking closely at each member of this odd little group. They all looked like some kind of exotic bird or animal, with bright coloured clothes and hair, synthetic jewelry and makeup. Was anything about them real? 

“So, Harry,” a woman with feathers hanging from the thick cords of her hair and what appeared to be a bed sheet wrapped around her chest began, leaning closer and setting an oversized coffee mug on the table. “How's the flatmate situation going?” 

I froze halfway around the table, pausing in my examination of a dark man with bright red hair. Shit. My eyes flew to Potter, whose face was screwed up in frustration. 

“It's still shit,” he complained, and the man in his lap tightened his hold. “He's just… He's always there, you know? And I can't do anything about it.”

“You could make him go away,” the man pouted. 

“Quiet Marcus,” red hair admonished in a startling baritone. I’m not ashamed to admit I jumped a little. “Harry, why don't you just talk to him?”

“No! No, I- I really don't think that's a good idea.” Potter looked nervous, his arms coming up to encircle ‘Marcus,’ much to the man's obvious delight. Potter didn’t seem to notice though, and snorted. “We have a history, I’ve told you. He’d sooner he-er hit me than- just… no.”

Hit him? That was a bit harsh. I mean, does Potter think we’re still in Hogwarts? Clearly, I’d hex him, right? Right?

Oh…

Fucking hell! He’s confiding in Muggles about how he wants to have me out? Well, shit. Merlin, he wants to bring his little boyfriend home after all, doesn’t he? Fine. Fine! If he wants me gone, I’m gone.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish packing.

-

I cringed when the café door crashed closed and my friends looked around nervously. 

“What was that?” Marcus demanded, clearly spooked. 

“Just the wind,” Trevor scoffed in that sultry tone of his, red curls glinting in the bright lights of the café. 

“There's not been any wind all night,” Sarah countered. Marcus climbed out of my lap - no, I wasn't dating him. Draco's an arse, Marcus wasn't remotely my type - and settled himself at her side. Sarah and Marcus, though, they were like a pair of children; easily spooked and liable to feed off each other in situations like that. I always wondered what they'd do if they knew vampires and werewolves and ghosts were real? 

But that wasn't what slammed the door, nor was it the wind. Just a nosy wizard with a hot temper and my bloody Invisibility Cloak. The conversation waiting for me at home would not be a pleasant one. I could get a head start, go back before Draco had a chance to work himself into a right strop, but… well, he’d followed me into Muggle London, hadn’t he? I could let him stew for a while.

So I turned back to my friends and settled into a night of gossip and philosophy, same as usual - I went to that café as often as I could when I wasn’t away on a mission. And it was a lovely evening, as they usually were. Still, when it was over and everyone had given me a hug or an air kiss, I slipped into a nearby alley and Apparated home rather than taking my customary walk. I’m not heartless.

And you know what he did? He switched on every bleeding light in the house! I had to search into every room leading up to his bedroom. And where else would he be? It wasn't as if he spent his time at Grimmauld Place anywhere else. Although, finding him on the floor in a pile of his own clothing and bedding while shouting at the fireplace was a bit of a surprise. As was the face watching him nervously from within the flickering emerald flames. 

“-him, you wretch! You know as well as I that he-” 

“Everything okay, Hermione?” I interrupted as calmly as I could manage. It didn't matter how crazy I was about the prickly bastard, no one talks to Hermione that way. 

“Oh, Harry!” Heaving a relieved sigh, Hermione’s face cleared even as Draco's shoulders stiffened. “The alarm on your secondary wards sounded and Draco was the only one here. He said nothing happened, but-” 

“Sod off, Granger,” Draco ordered, sulking in his makeshift nest in front of the fire. 

“But,” she said again, louder, and crossed her arms over her paisley dressing gown. “He's clearly upset.”

Now, that took me off guard. I glanced back to Draco, who still hadn't turned to face me, taking in his drawn shoulders and trembling edges. One real thought settled in my mind in that moment: Well fuck. 

I cleared my throat and turned back to the fire. “Thank you, Hermione. I'll take care of it.”

“Yes, well,” she sniffed, her gaze sliding back to Draco for a moment, concern in her shadowy eyes. “See that you do.”

When she was gone, though, I still stood there, unsure what to do next. Silence stretched for long minutes before Draco finally drew a ragged breath and turned where he sat. He didn't look at me so much as he looked at a spot just to my side, but he spoke and the words sent the air whooshing from my lungs. I don't know where it went, I didn't leave my mouth or nose, there was no sound, but I felt like I was drowning. 

“I'm just sorting my things. I'll be gone by tomorrow, noon.” His voice carried that posh drawl I hated so much in school, the one that was endlessly distracting when he used it at the Ministry but, used now, said he was drawing a distinct line between us before he even left. 

Of course, I was being ridiculous. All I had of him was a hope, he wasn't mine. He could leave if he wanted to. So I swallowed once, twice to clear my throat, then nodded. 

“Okay. You- you've found somewhere else to stay until your flat is-” 

“I'll go to the Manor,” he interrupted, turning back to the pile around him. “I don't want to burden you any further.”

“He's clearly upset.” Hermione’s words echoed in my head. 

Without giving myself time to think, I stepped further into the room. “You aren't a burden. Listen, Draco- you don't have to go, can't we talk about this?” 

“I think you've said enough tonight,” Draco sniffed.

“What?” 

“Is that what you do?” His head snapped back, his raging storm clouds swirling around the dark centre as he glared at me, waiting for an answer I didn't have. 

“What are you talking about, Draco?” 

“When you disappear every night! You sneak away to complain about me to your Muggle fanclub? You didn't have to bring me here! I could have gone to the Manor and -” 

“This is about my friends?” Somehow, Draco was standing and I think I was shouting. “Draco, I've gone out to visit them for years, it has nothing to do with you!” 

“That's not how it sounded. ‘He's always there!’” he mimicked, whinging to exaggerate the annoyance I never used. “But it's okay, Potter. You can make me go away. See? I'm going!”

My mind was reeling, I'm pretty sure my mouth was hanging open, and all I could do was stare while he flicked his wand to send his clothes soaring into the open trunk at the foot of his bed. 

“Not to worry. You'll have your home free to bring your little boy toy round again before you know it.”

That was the final straw. With my clenching fist, his trunk snapped closed, startling Draco into silence. He spun around to face me again, challenge still shining in his eyes. 

“You think Marcus is what I want? A pathetic, clinging child?” My voice was low and my strides even as I crossed the room to stand before Draco, glowering. “I'd be bored senseless within a week, you git.”

Draco swallowed, nervous even as he lifted his chin defiantly, the brightness in his eyes dimming to confusion. And I reveled in it. 

“You thought I was complaining because I don't want you here? Come now, Draco. You're smarter than that.” Ducking my head, I trailed my lips down the long line of his neck, hoping against hope he wouldn't push me away. 

But he sighed, dropping his head back as his hands scrambled to find purchase in the waist of my jumper. I closed my teeth over his pulse point briefly, dragging the across the skin as it vibrated with his groan. 

“I was complaining because you're so bloody close and I couldn't touch you,” I growled, tracing the shell of his ear with my tongue, my hands growing stiff at my sides from keeping them to myself. “Don't go, Draco. Stay. Let me touch you…”

“Fuck,” he sighed, draping one long arm over my shoulders. “Fuck, yes. Touch me.”

-

“Harry?” 

Jolting, Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts before turning back to the precocious ten-year-old opposite him in the basement kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. “Sorry, where was I?” 

“Draco said you were complaining about him to your friends. Were you?” Teddy watched him expectantly, his teal hair wild about his face and jam sticking to his top lip.

“Sort of,” Harry chuckled. “I had a bit of a crush on him and it was difficult, living with him without telling him about it. Anyway, I told him he'd misunderstood and that he was the bloke I fancied, not Marcus, and the rest is history.”

The gentle sway of his body suggested Teddy was swinging his slipper-clad feet beneath the table as he munched thoughtfully on his toast. Harry sipped his coffee, waiting for the verdict. 

At long last, Teddy shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Harry asked hesitantly. 

“You can marry him. Can I see the ring?” 

Grinning, Harry dug the small velvet box from his pocket and gestured for Teddy to come around the table. “Have to be quick, he'll be up any minute.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ❤️


End file.
